My brain is leaking.
Thanks to my crazy grandmother. Seriously she's beginning to make my gray matter dribble out of my ears.
Tonight, thankfully, I had to umpire two ballgames so I was away from her. Afterwards, though I came home and they had brought me Chinese food. I changed clothes and sat down, diving into that heavenly glory known as the China Inn's egg rolls. Grandma says "Oh Rusty did you heat your food up already?" (Mind you she has never owned or used a microwave oven)
I hadn't heated it up. I was too hungry to care. "Nope," I said. "It wasn't cold."
"YOU'RE EATING YOUR FOOD COLD?"
"It's not cold. It's just not warm," I said.
At that point, she got up and out of the chair she was sitting in, marched over to where I was sitting and just stared at me as I was eating my food.
"Well I never," She said.
I wanted to say "I've never suffered an aneursym but if you keep watching me eat, I will."
Why?
Why must my Braves suck so bad? Why can't they find any relievers and a solid closer? Bobby and Mr. GM better get on the ball here and make a trade or two. They've lost 10 out of their last 11 and have fallen so far, they aren't even going to sniff the playoffs.
I'm afraid letting Leo Mazzone go was a bad idea. The starting pitching has been good enough to win games, it's just the relievers are coming in and seeming to underhand it to players. It's ridiculous.
I'd also like to know why the Thorman kid was called up. He's not even hitting his weight, lighting up the majors for an .083 average. OH-EIGHTY-THREE? Send him back down. Send him back to wiffleball practice. I'm afraid the Braves also need a first baseman who can hit 30 homers a season along with about a .280 average. Right now, LaRoche will be lucky to hit 25 dingers. He'll be even luckier if he could hit .250. Maybe it's time to bring up Saltamacchia and turn him into a first baseman. That kid showed he had power and a decent stick.
I'm sick of seeing the Braves lose. Someone fix them and fix them now.
What happened?
I've lost it. My confidence in my batting stroke is gone. I don't know what I'm doing except thinking too much.
This 1 for 4 shit every night is really starting to piss me off. It's like being teased because I'll rip a hit and think "Okay, now i'm gonna get my shit started," but no. Stick a fork in me, I'm done.
And it is done
We managed to get Timmy married. I'm pretty sure that a good time was had by all. Unfortunately, there could be pictures coming back to haunt us/me from the reception.
I got to Tim's at about 12:15 or so, only to be met by Josh and Phil who were outside waiting on Tim to get back so the house could be unlocked. Unbeknowest to us, the front door was unlocked. Basically we sat outside for 10 minutes for no reason. We ate lunch which had been provided for us by someone, while drinking beer and watching soccer.
Tim's dog managed to get 3 of the 4 sandwiches while we were downstairs watching the game. Brian kept asking me how long it would take to put on a tux. I kept cutting the time down each time he asked because that would allow us to drink another beer. We got to Botanica (outdoor gardens) at around 4:15. The people allowed us to use the library as a staging area. So we christened it with another beer.
After pictures we took a ceremonial Patron shot. However mine ended up a double, then I had to finish off the bottle. By the time the actual ceremony rolled around, I was grinning from ear to ear. One of our friends saw me as we were walking in, and he knew that i was pretty gone by that time. It was all I could do to keep from giggling. Wait, I think I did giggle during the actual ceremony.
After that stuff, we headed to the reception hall and began to drink more. Tim and Christy had SEVEN kegs for this wedding and if I'm not mistaken, we drank them all. Supper was only okay, thanks to the Emeril wannabe who cooked all his food in garlic or so it seemed. Fortunately the potatoes and the beef tips didn't have any garlic in them, so I did get to eat a bit. After the toasts, the evil bridesmaids made us take a Jager shot...or two.
From the Jager shot on, things are kind of blurry for me. They said I was working on beer No. 22 of the day when they grabbed me for dancing. Yes folks, I was so drunk that I was a dancing fool. The chicken dance, the snowball dance, and a dance to Van Morrison's Brown Eyed girl all took place.
Then it happened.
I was out visiting the beer table again when Josh came and snagged me. We walked out into the hall, and the DJ made us into the village people. I got the cool police helmet with the visor and sunglasses. So he announced us as the special guests and we came in to dance to YMCA (I was still holding a beer). We were laughing and dancing when the DJ said "Okay, now you guys do it on your back." I gave him a WTF look until Josh dropped to the floor. The DJ then said that the catch was to do the YMCA with our legs while laying on the floor.
It brought the house down.
Throw in the wedding cha-cha, tootsie roll and the electric slide and suddenly I was sweated wet and surprisingly sober by 11:30. Eventually, I changed and then rolled on home. I fell asleep about 2 and slept til noon.
Damn, it was a good time.
Moving on up.
In the world.
Of course for me, that means that I umpired a higher level of baseball last night. Normally, I call balls and strikes for what is called Pony Boys. This age group is 11-12 year olds, played on 75 foot bases. This is the first year they can lead off and steal, along with being the first year of the kids pitching for themselves. Sometimes, the pitching is less than desirable.
Last night however, thanks to a jam, I ended up doing a 13-year-old game. This is a slightly higher level of baseball if there is such a thing. These kids play in the Babe Ruth program, which is rather extensive around this area. They're playing on the college field, 90 foot bases, the works.
I had a ball. Of course, our kids won, which makes it better. What was nice was both pitchers were throwing strikes so there weren't a lot of walks. It was a gorgeous evening for baseball too. I settled into my first batter and I couldn't contain my smile as it felt like I belonged. Of course, I had the best view of the game.
The parents weren't too bad either. All they have to do is remember that it's not where the catcher catches it, it's where the ball crosses the plate.
Hey yo
I'm still here. It's been a busy last few days as I've chased stories, fought off a sickness, umpired, played ball, had margarita day and played a couple rounds of golf.
The good news is that Margarita Day was a smashing success.
The bad news is that my golf scores have gone up by three strokes each time. The first round was a 77, the next an 80 and now an 83. I'll have to fix that.
They just don't get it.
Some people just don't get it. That's all there is too it.
I'm not sure what chemical imbalance they suffer from but it's debilitating. Not only to them, but to the people who try to be the voice of reason to these "special" people. I've discussed this before, but it gets to the point where you'd like nothing more than to smash them in the mouth with a great big "PULL YOUR HEAD OUT" sign.
Of course, if that doesn't work, they make the same mistakes over and over, and then you'd like to crush them with an "I TOLD YOU SO" sign. Sometimes, I wonder if there were ever enough ITYS signs. I don't think that they are.
It's hard when it's the same thing over and over. It's hard when they don't listen and you've been consistently right over and over, yet they still come back for advice. Advice that goes in one ear and out the other because they hear without listening. Throw in the fact that they're usually wrapped up in some sort of drama that they deem is life altering, when they don't really know what drama is, and you have a winner of a combination.
I'm sure that everyone deals with this type of person. Sad to say, sometimes it can be a bit entertaining if you're getting secondhand knowledge of these people.
Too bad, it can nearly cause aneurysms when the stupidity levels go too high.
But I have good news. We did win two ball games last night.
Timing is everything.
In this case, it's really true. Thanks to my frustration with myself and my team on Wednesday night, I managed to lose my right hand batting glove. Of course, it's long gone by now as I went to the diamond yesterday and hit into the Silver Monster. I checked around. I'm sure it's gone because I don't even remember picking it up.
Oh well. I'm down to the last 22 bucks in my checking account when the phone rings and Lisa tells me that I've got a check waiting for me at the office. YES!! Because I'm quirky, I have to have batting gloves on both hands when I play softball. I forgot my paycheck was coming so it's like Christmas in June.
Now I have to go pick it up and then it's off to WalMart to grab a pair pack of batting gloves.
As for softball, I'm beginning to get worried that I'm getting too competitive. I was more frustrated at myself for our loss on Wednesday night.
